A Heavy Burden
by catmilk
Summary: Howl's Moving Castle AU: Molly Hooper is a timid girl who works in a morgue all she wants is to be left alone, but unfortunately a curse by Irene Adler, the witch of the waste, has other plans in mind when she curses the poor girl into looking like an old woman and it's all because of Sherlock Holmes. Molly must go on a journey to find herself and break this unfortunate curse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I've been wanting to write a Howl's AU for so long and I finally got the courage to do so.**

**I want to thank my beta tumblr user 'mollymatterrs' for looking over my mess of writing and making it presentable. I hope you all enjoy my little story and feel free to tell me so! **

**I don't own any of the characters or the characters they're based on.**

**enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Molly Hooper, age 23. Occupation: Pathologist—or rather, pathologist in training. The type of girl who liked to be by herself, Molly tended to blend into the background and stay out of trouble. She enjoyed what she did for a living, and she was mostly content with her life.

"Molly!" she heard one of her co-workers shout as she entered the morgue with a group of others.

The young girl looked up from the corpse she was currently sewing up.

"Yes?" she said a little too cheerily.

Meena gave her a look before talking. "The girls and I are going out to lunch; we're going to see if we'll spot Sherlock Holmes!" she said in excitement.

"I heard he steals girl's hearts!" said one of the girls in the background.

Molly covered up the body and snapped off her gloves. "If he steals their hearts, why are you looking for him?"

Over the years she had heard many tales about Sherlock Holmes. He lived in a huge contraption that many people called a castle, but the way they described it made it seem more like of a piece of moving rubbish to her. There were only a few who had seen his castle, or had claimed to have seen it. Molly swore she'd caught a glimpse once, but it was probably her imagination. A series of giggles broke Molly's thoughts.

"We're not looking for him," scoffed one of the girls. "We want to see if we _spot_ him. There's a difference."

"No it's not," hummed Molly in reply.

The girl let out a sigh, causing Meena to nudge her painfully.

"Ouch! What was that for?" the girl asked.

Meena shot her a glare before turning her attention to Molly. "So, are you coming?"

Molly bit at her lower lip before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so, sorry. Maybe next time; plus I have to go visit a friend in a bit."

Meena let out a sigh and urged the other girls out. "Alright, maybe next time. See you."

The morgue grew quiet and Molly could hear the girls talking.

_"She never wants to come with us."_

_"I don't like her very much."_

_"Maybe she's scared Sherlock will appear."_

_"He only appears to pretty girls."_

Molly frowned as she heard the series of giggles fade away. She had never considered herself pretty or beautiful, but she _was_ smart. While all her friends were going off and dating, that or getting married, Molly was always hidden behind a book. She liked it that way; she liked learning. Knowledge was everything to her. If a man was only interested in her looks and not her brain, then he wasn't the one for her. With a sigh, Molly put away the body and began putting on her coat and scarf, readying herself to visit Mary. This was one appointment she could not miss.

* * *

Molly decided to stop by Mary's favorite bakery to get her some pastries; though it seemed as though London was having a festival of some sort. The streets were littered with people who were laughing and cheering, making it a little difficult for Molly to take her usual route to the bakery. Clearly she'd have to take another way. The young pathologist-in-training entered an empty alleyway; the noise of people celebrating was drowned out as she walked further down the alley, which was much darker than she'd originally perceived it to be. Behind her, she heard laughter and Molly's heart began to pound through her chest, for as she turned the corner she had spotted two men dressed in Army uniforms, officious and conversing quietly with each other. Molly breathed out and relaxed a little, but she still kept a cautious eye on them. Normally, soldiers were trustworthy, but these two had a certain darkness about them that unnerved her.

"You just have to walk past them quickly," she told herself and she hurried past them. She almost thought she was safe until one of them called her.

"Hey!"

Molly froze and turned slowly, as one of the soldiers, the taller, blonde one, smiled at her.

"Hey beautiful," he said with a grin. Molly blushed and looked down at her feet.

"You're making her blush," teased the smaller man.

"Oh I think it's cute." Seeing that Molly had begun to look away from him, he placed a hand on her chin. "Hey, look at me," he said as he lifted her head towards him. "What's your name sweet? I'm Sebastian."

Molly pulled her head away. "I have to go."

"Come on, don't be like that! Stay. We can hang out for a bit; we'll take you to the festival. It's dedicated to us you know." he said proudly, "We've been real brave at the war front." He grinned and walked closer to her, almost pressing her against the wall. "Don't you want to hang out with us for a while? We have to go back and fight tomorrow. I'd really like something to remember when I'm fighting out there."

Molly furrowed her brows and shook her head. "I-I-I—"

"Oh, there you are, darling," said a deep baritone voice behind them. Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the intruder; a tall thin man, he glared at Sebastian and he turned to look at Molly. His gaze was piercing. He pushed past Sebastian and slipped his arm around her waist.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. I hope you didn't miss me terribly," he said smoothly. Molly stared up at the stranger, but he was too busy glaring at Sebastian and the other man.

"I-I-I..." she stuttered.

"Of course, dear," replied the man, though he still did not look at her. "We really must go. We'll be late for our appointment."

Without another word, he tugged her away gently and the two began walking.

Molly was in shock. Or she was at least dreaming because Sherlock Holmes, one of the best wizards in all of England, was currently walking beside her. Her mind whirled. What was she supposed to do? Were all the rumors surrounding this man true? Should she be worried? What if he stole her heart?! She didn't dare look at him—but perhaps she could take a peek. Molly glanced over at Sherlock, and her eyes widened when she saw him looking down at her. Those piercing blue-green eyes looked at her again, and seemed to bore into her core.

"Stop that," he said quickly.

"S-Stop what?" she asked as she turned her head and looked at the road in front of her.

"Thinking. It's annoying."

Molly frowned and looked back at him, opening her mouth to say something, but his grip on her waist tightened.

"Don't panic, but we're being followed," he said in a low, hurried voice.

Molly looked over her shoulder and saw the men from earlier. They were walking rapidly towards them and although she had specifically been told not to panic that was exactly what she began doing. Sherlock must have sensed it because he began to walk faster. The men behind them—who had once claimed themselves to be respectable soldiers—seemed to transform, their bodies twisting and writhing into the shapes of dark, terrifying demons. Sherlock pressed her closer against him.

"Don't look behind us," he warned.

Molly looked over her shoulder and saw that the two men (demons?) had multiplied over and over until they had become almost a dozen. Molly squeaked in horror, but to her surprise, Sherlock let out a sigh.

"I told you not to look!" he scowled.

"I'm sorry!"

"Hold on to me," he demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me. Don't be boring, you heard what I said."

Molly didn't have time to say anything, for she was tripping over her feet as he continued to walk fast. It felt as if she were floating... wait a minute... She _was_ floating!

"Don't look down."

"Oh my God!" she squeaked. "Oh _God!_"

"Not quite," he replied coolly. Molly's feet flailed in the air and she held on tighter to Sherlock's coat."Don't let go of me!"

Sherlock gave her a throaty chuckle and held on to her tighter.

"Follow my movements," he instructed her, and for a moment she wanted to ask what he meant, but as he began to move his legs as if he were walking on solid ground, Molly found herself mimicking his movements. Soon enough, the two were walking in and on the air—quite literally. Molly let out a laugh of delight. Once she had got past the fact that she was in the wide open air, it was actually kind of...well, _nice._ The pair walked over the unsuspecting crowd below them, all too busy in their celebration to notice the pair in the sky.

"Who were those—men?" Molly asked after a while, swallowing slightly.

"Wizards," spat Sherlock. "They gave themselves over, and they've become monsters."

Molly knew by his tone that the subject would no longer be discussed. So she instead told him she could see Mary's flat, pointed out the building and gasped slightly as Sherlock deftly set her on the balcony of the second floor. He gave her a smirk as her feet touched at the wooden floor. He on the other hand was standing on the balcony railing.

"It was a delight," he said with a smile, "but I wasn't lying about being late to an appointment."

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Until next time," he said as he jumped down the railing. Molly gasped again and rushed towards the railing, leaning over to see where he had gone, but she saw nothing. Sherlock Holmes had disappeared into the crowd of people and left a bewildered Molly standing on the balcony.

* * *

"Molly!"

She turned around, just as Mary trotted out into the balcony.

"Oh," she said softly. "Hello, Mary."

"Mrs. Hudson just told me she saw you fly in with Sherlock Holmes!"

Molly gave her a slight smile but only nodded, causing Mary to place both of her hands on her shoulders and she shook her lightly.

"C'mon, tell me everything!" she said with too much enthusiasm to handle.

"Alright, alright. Let's go inside."

x

Once inside, Molly found herself sitting across from Mary and Mrs. Hudson, who just so happened to invite herself to tea after the whole Sherlock ordeal. Breathlessly, Molly recounted to them the entire event of the soldiers, the flight and how Sherlock Holmes had so swiftly rescued her from a possibly unfortunate state.

"And well that's pretty much all that happened," she finished. Mrs. Hudson and Mary gaped as they absorbed her tale. After a moment, Mrs. Hudson spoke.

"That's quite an interesting tale, dear," she said, taking a sip from her tea.

"Do you think he wants to steal your heart?" Mary asked. "I heard he does that—and that he performs experiments on them!"  
Molly snorted and took a sip of her tea. "He only steals pretty girl's hearts."

"Psh, you're beautiful, Molly! You know you are. Stop thinking you're not!"

Molly rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, but was stopped as she remembered. "Mary!"

"What?! What is it!?" replied Mary, startled by her friend's sudden anxiety.

"I was going to buy you some of those little blue berry pastries you like," Molly said with a pout. Mary and Mrs. Hudson looked to each other before they burst into laughter.

"Molly Hooper, you just had an encounter with the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes, and that's all you can think of?" said Mary between laughter. Molly glared at them and finished up her tea.

"Well, excuse me for wanting to bring you a treat," she muttered.

x

"Must you really go?" said Mary sadly as her friend prepared to go. Molly understood her negative mood; it had been months since they had seen one another. With a nod, she brought Mary into a hug.

"Sorry, but I have to go back to work."

"Okay, but I don't know why you like working there, Molly. It's kind of creepy."

"I like it, no one bothers me there. Plus my patients don't complain," she said with a giggle.

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Mary said with a sigh, but she brought her into another hug before releasing her. "Promise we'll hang out soon?"

"Promise."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "You're a shitty liar."

Molly smirked before she departed Mary's home and made her way back to the morgue. She hoped to finish her shift quickly; then she could go home and get the day's insane, exhilarating adventure out of her system.

* * *

The morgue was quiet, it was late and Mike Stamford had left hours ago leaving Molly working in the morgue alone. After a while, she decided that she absolutely hated it. Of course she liked the quiet, but she couldn't bare it after a certain amount of hours. It always became so... eerie. Molly continued to fill out her paperwork, hoping to be done quickly. She'd have to probably end up taking the Underground home tonight, since she didn't feel safe walking home—especially with what had transpired earlier that day.

A noise caused Molly to quickly look up. She narrowed her eyes and stared ahead at the dark hall.

"Hello?" she called out, only to be welcomed by complete silence. She let out a sigh.

"It's only your imagination, Molly," she told herself, "just finish this up and you can go home."

As she continued writing out the piles of paperwork, she heard what sounded like the door slamming. Molly stood absolutely still, eyes wide with fear and worry. A woman came into her view and Molly couldn't help but admire her beauty; the woman had reddish brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. Once she was spotted, the woman gave her a dazzling grin.

"Hm. You're rather plain aren't you?"

Molly's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"And so little—you aren't a suitable companion for Mr. Holmes. So then... why _you?_"

It didn't seem as though she was talking directly at her. The woman seemed to be in her own world.

"You can't have him," she said finally, aiming a look at Molly.

"I'm sorry? Have who?" she asked, frowning. "Now listen Miss—"

"Irene."

She blinked once, before she gave a nod. "Fine. Irene, listen. I don't know who you're talking about, but you're not allowed back here."

Irene checked her perfectly polished nails and smirked. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Molly Hooper."

Molly froze in her place. How did this woman know her name? Irene grinned and looked over at her.

"Oh yes, I know who you are."

She gave her a wink, causing Molly to shudder.

"I want you to stay away from him," growled Irene.

"W-Who?" replied Molly nervously.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

Molly audibly gulped.

"You're going to see him again, aren't you?"

"I think it's time for you to go," Molly said finally, voice stern.

"Standing up to the witch of the waste, that's rather bold of you," said Irene with a grin.

"The witch of the waste?" gasped Molly.

She internally panicked. A witch?! Her father had warned her about witches; he'd told her they could be pretty wicked, especially when they were mad, and this witch seemed pretty mad—at her. This was all Sherlock bloody Holmes' fault! Why would she even go to see him? Even if she did want to see him again (and she wasn't saying she _did_), she wouldn't know how to even begin to find him. Irene watched her carefully and Molly could see something in her eyes light up. The air in the room seemed to change. It seemed to darken, somehow. Molly didn't have time to react, for the woman had gone, only to be replaced by a cloud of black smoke. The cloud hurdled itself at her, and Molly let out a painful gasp as she felt a sharp pain shoot through her body. She collapsed to her knees, body shivering and let out a gasp. Weak—she felt weak. She lifted her head up weakly, to see the cloud gone and Irene walking away. She gave a horrendous laugh.

"The best thing about curses is that you can't tell anyone about them! Tell Sherlock I send my love," she said as she exited from the morgue, the tap of her heels fading slowly away.

Molly stayed in the same position for what felt like forever. Her body felt different—maybe she had been turned into a frog? With difficulty, she managed to get up from the floor. Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She fully turned to stare at the person looking back at her. She walked closer to examine the reflection looking back. It was an old woman; she looked around eighty, she looked like...

"Me," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone! I present you chapter 2! I'm glad with all the positive feedback I got from the last chapter I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **

**I don't own any of the characters in this story, sadly.**

**I want to thank my wonderful beta mollymatterrs for making my work presentable. **

**Feel free to review! Reading what you all have to say makes me incredibly happy!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

A loud knock at her front door was what managed to wake up poor Molly Hooper. The now old woman wrapped her blanket over her body and stared at the door as another knock was heard.

"Molly? It's Mike. Are you home?"

Molly wrapped her blanket tighter to her body, but did not move from her sofa. Stamford's anxiety was understandable; she'd left work without finishing her papers last night and given no notice about when she would be back in the morgue. After all, she had been too preoccupied with the fact she'd been turned into an eighty year old woman to even think about her stupid paperwork.

"Molly?" she heard Mike say through the door once again.

"I-I'm ill!" she shouted, following it with a series of fake coughs.

"Oh dear, you sound awful!" she heard him say through the door.

"Y-Yes! I couldn't possibly bring myself to go to work and risk getting anyone sick." _Even though my only patients are corpses and barely anyone talks to me unless they need to_, she thought. She coughed again for added effect.

"Alright, I understand," said Mike. "I hope you get better soon, Molls."

With that, she heard Mike Stamford's footsteps fade down the corridor. Molly relaxed and with a sigh, she got out of bed and hobbled slowly over to her mirror. She was haggard at best, with a jawline that drooped and wrinkles so deep you could stick cards in them.

"Well, this isn't _so_ bad," she said in a vague attempt to cheer herself up. "Still in pretty good shape— and my clothes finally suit me."

She smiled at herself in the mirror, but her smile almost immediately turned into a scowl.

"Who am I kidding? I can't stay here."

* * *

On the outskirts of London, there was a place called The Wastes. Notorious for containing many witches and wizards who often tricked unsuspecting travelers; it was a place people only dared to venture into when they had no other option. Perhaps that was exactly why Molly Hooper was heading there. After all, if there was a place where she could possibly break this curse, it was The Wastes. She could make a deal with a witch or wizard—perhaps one nicer than the Irene woman. Surely there had to be at least one around?

Okay, it was a dreadful idea, but what other choice did she have? She just couldn't stay like this.

As Molly walked along the streets of London, head bowed, she would occasionally catch snatches of people's conversations. (Not that she was trying to be nosy; not at all.)

_"Their Prince has gone missing."_

_"Prince Lestrade?"_

_"Yeah! Apparently they're blaming it on us. That can't be good."_

_"Oh dear, all this talk about war and missing Princes... You don't think they'll attack London next?"_

She lowered her head further and tried to look the entire world for an innocent old lady and not a terrified young pathologist-in-training. All this talk about war scared her. She would not have termed herself a coward, and nor would she have termed herself a pacifist, but the war had raged on for so long and so many lives had been lost because of it. Politicians, soldiers, civilians; they were all the same in death. It was disheartening and heartbreaking in equal measure. When would the violence end?

Being an old woman had its advantages though. Everyone ignored her and to be honest, it was rather wonderful. Occasionally she would be asked if she needed assistance from a few younger people, but other than that Molly was doing a pretty good job of blending into the background.

"I could get used to this," she told herself, but a pain in her hip caused her to wince and let out a painful groan. Perhaps it would take her a little while to get _completely_ used to her new situation.

It was thanks to a local farmer and his son that she was able to get a ride to the border of The Wastes, a place preceded by a steep, grass-covered hill. Hopping off the back of the tractor, she thanked the farmer and his son and made her way up the hill.

"You're crazy if you do this, Grandma," the farmer called after her. "There's nothing but witches and wizards out there!"

She rolled her eyes as she continued to walk. "Thank you! I'll keep that in mind!"

Soon though, it felt like hours since Molly had begun her journey, and yet she felt like she had gone nowhere. Perhaps it was time for a tea break. She needed one after such a stressful day of travel. Settling down, she poured herself a hot cup of tea from a thermos she had packed along with some food. She took a sip and let out a hum of approval. Molly gazed at the scenery, and she could see the city. To her annoyance, it was still fairly close.

"I'll never get anywhere with these legs," she sighed.

Molly turned to look down at her lap when she spotted a stick sticking out of the bushes near to her. Hm—maybe she could use that as a walking stick.

Slowly, she sat up and let out a groan. It felt as if every joint in her body had popped. Why did one's body have to become so frail when it got old? She hobbled over to the bush and grasped the stick and pulled.

"It's stuck," she muttered.

She continued to pull, occasionally muttering and cursing under her breath. Finally, she managed to pull it out, almost falling back in the process. Letting out a gasp, she toppled back and found that she had happened to pull out a whole scarecrow, which wore torn clothing with a withering turnip for a head.

"What the—it's just a scarecrow!" she said in an almost amused tone. Her smile fell away as she noticed it standing on its own, without any kind of visible support. She raised a brow. "How are you standing on your own like that?"

The scarecrow stared blankly at her. Molly grimaced. She didn't know why she thought it would reply back to her. Maybe her old mind was making her senile too? The old woman let out another sigh and wrapped her shawl closer to her body.

"Your head's a turnip. I never liked turnips."

She turned to leave.

"At least you're not upside down anymore," she said before she left the scarecrow behind.

x

The wind was picking up, the sun was setting, and Molly Hooper could still see the town. At this point she would never make it anywhere.

"I've barely moved," she sighed.

Molly spotted the scarecrow from earlier hopping its way up to her. Although part of her wished to scream in surprise and jump back, she was far too tired to do such a thing. Instead, she made a face and shook her head.

"Go away!" she told it. "You don't owe me a thing."

The scarecrow stopped a few feet from her. This only served to raise her ire.

"I'm sure you have some type of spell on you and I'm more than tired of spells, so just go find some field and stand in it!"

The scarecrow stood still and Molly almost thought she'd convinced it but soon enough, it began hopping towards her again. A gust of wind blew, taking her shawl with it.

"My shawl!" she yelled.

It flew past the scarecrow, but where other scarecrows would've let it float past, this particular scarecrow quickly turned around to go catch it. Molly blinked and watched as the scarecrow disappeared. She turned and shivered—sure, she might be a little cold now, but at least she didn't have a cursed scarecrow following her.

She spoke too soon, for the scarecrow returned. Only this time, it had her shawl, draped around its stick of an arm.

"How did you pick that up?" she asked curiously.

It continued to stare blankly at her and Molly rolled her eyes before she took her shawl and wrapped it snugly around her frail body. "Thank you. If you would like to do me one more favor, could you go find me a place to stay?"

The scarecrow stood there for a second before it turned and hopped down the path that Molly had just gone. She watched it for a bit before she smirked and gave herself an imaginary pat in the back.

"That'll be the last time I see that stupid turnip head," she said, quite happy with the fact. Scarecrows were quite gullible, as it turned out.

* * *

After a time of pacing back and forth against the grassy hill, Molly began to shiver. The cold somehow always managed to get right through her.

"Why is it that when you're old, you're always cold?" she groaned to herself.

Molly plopped onto the soft grass and buried her face against her shawl for warmth. She hoped to at least get a little warmed up with the small amount of body heat her stupid old body could provide her. Maybe she could start a fire... if she knew how to. How hard could it be though? Wasn't it one of the more basic survival instincts, to be able to build and light a fire? Molly looked around for anything she could use, but the smell of smoke hit her.

"Someone has a fire going..." she muttered as she sniffed the air again, inhaling the rich scent of fire burning. It made her think of home, sitting next to the fire with a warm cup of tea and a good book. Maybe there was a cabin nearby; maybe they'd let her in, just for one night. They wouldn't let an old woman stay out in the cold. No-one was that mean.

Molly stood up and let out a small huff of air as she began walking up the hill. Maybe the cabin was just up the hill. Yet before she even made it up, a huge mental contraption appeared out of nowhere, blowing out puffs of smoke and creaking with each movement. Molly stared at it with wide eyes as it came fully into view. The ground below her shook and she spotted that scarecrow—perhaps she could call it Turnip Head, considering how stupid it was—hopping into view and it settled beside her.

"Turnip Head!" she yelled impatiently. "That's Sherlock's castle! That is _not _what I meant when I asked for a place to stay!"

The castle stopped moving as soon as it was above her. Why had it stopped moving? Molly gazed up at the castle in awe.

"Will you look at that," she said to no one in particular. "This thing _does_ look like a piece of rubbish."

As if it had heard her and as if it was insulted by what it had heard, the castle creaked and began to move again. Molly let out a surprised squeak and scrambled out of the way as quickly as she could. Turnip Head hopped past her and stopped near a door. It motioned, tilting with the wind as if it were telling her that she needed to go there. It had to be the way in. Molly gave a determined nod and quickly walked towards the door, even though the castle continued to move.

"Slow down!" she yelled at the castle, even though she knew it could not hear her. She managed to grab onto one of the handles and held on for dear life. "Christ! Are you going to let me in or not!?"

The castle bounced once, and she felt herself being thrust forward, as if scooped up from the floor. She hauled herself onto her feet and grasped at the door knob. She took one last look at Turnip Head as she held on.

"Thank you for your help!" (Okay, so she wasn't exactly thankful, but she was polite.) "And I'm sure Sherlock won't steal the heart of a shriveled up old lady like me," she said with a slight laugh before she went inside. Well, she wasn't _entirely_ sure but she did hope. She would very much have liked to keep her heart; she'd already lost her youth.

* * *

It was nice and warm inside, thankfully. Molly slowly made her way up the steps where everything was dark, except for a glowing red light of a fire in the fireplace. Molly gazed around the rest of it. The place was a mess! There were random books and beakers on the table and the floor; spider webs sat on the corners of the walls—wait!? Was that an _eyeball_?! Molly rolled her eyes as she continued to look around. She spotted the wallpaper; a yellow smiley face stared back at her—she could have also sworn she noticed bullet holes on the wall. Molly let out a sigh and shook her head. This place was well and truly an utter pigsty.

Once she knew she was safe, she walked over to one of the seats, a red chair that looked extremely comfortable, and exactly like what Molly needed at that moment. Sitting down, she settled against the chair and heaved a gentle sigh. After today she had needed this. She rubbed her hands together and extended them a little over to the small fire, burning low but bright.

"When I think castle, this isn't what comes to mind," she said to herself.

Molly let out a yawn and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She wasn't afraid of who might come, if it be Sherlock or someone else. That was one good thing about being old; she didn't get scared so easily anymore.

x

As Molly stared at the glowing fire, her eye lids grew heavier and heavier with sleep. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn she saw a pair of eyes in the fire. Molly let out a yawn and closed her eyes.

"I wouldn't want to be you right now, lady. That is one bad curse. You're going to have a really hard time getting rid of that one," said a voice suddenly.

Molly blinked awake and looked around until her eyes landed on the fire. It had… spoken?! She stuttered in her surprise. "Y-you—"

"Let me guess," said the fire. "You're not allowed to talk about the curse?"

Molly stared at the fire open mouthed.

"What are you?" she asked, breathless.

"I am an extremely powerful fire demon! John! John Watson."

Molly giggled and the fire scowled at her.

"What? Why are you giggling?"

"What kind of a name is John Watson?"

"Hey! I'm an extremely powerful fire demon!" he whined.

Molly stopped giggling and smiled, an idea alighting in her mind. "You're a demon! You should be able to break my curse!"

John looked at her and blinked. "Maybe, maybe not. If you can help me break my curse, then perhaps I can break the spell that's on you."

Molly frowned. Trusting too easily and being gullible was what had got her into this mess. "Wait a minute. You're a _demon._ How do I know I can trust you?" she asked him suddenly. "If I help you, do you promise to help me?"

John frowned slightly. "I don't really know... Demons don't really make promises."

Molly leaned against the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Then go find someone else to break your curse."

John let out a sigh. "Come on! You should feel bad for me! This stupid curse keeps me locked in this castle! I can't go anywhere, and Sherlock treats me like a slave! I hate it!" he spat.

As John complained, Molly once again felt her eyes getting heavy with sleep. She tuned out the voice of John and yawned.

"Are you listening to me?" he said.

Molly nodded her head tiredly. "Yes—yes, I'm listening," she muttered tiredly.

"Look, if you can figure out how to break this thing I'm in with Sherlock, then you can break the spell. After that, I can easily break your spell."

Molly nodded. Sleep was slowly consuming her.

"Alright," she said softly. "It's a deal."

That was the last thing she managed to mumble before sleep overtook her.


	3. Chapter 3

**I want to thank my Beta for reading over my work and making it sound a billion times better! Sorry for the late update, I'm slowly getting through all my fics. Slowly, but I'm getting there!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

A pounding on the door riled Molly up from her sleep. Lately it seemed that people knocking on the door was the only reason she kept being woken up. The pounding continued and Molly couldn't help but stare, dumbfounded, at it. She had always known what she was supposed to do when someone knocked on a door, but now she was alone, in a house operated by an easily irritated fire demon, she found herself hesitant to do anything. The knocking continued, more impatient this time. What _was_ she to do? Should she go and check who it was? Heavy footsteps coming from upstairs caused Molly to finally tear her eyes away from the door and up at the ceiling. Soon, the footsteps grew louder and closer until she saw a figure rushing down the stairs. Molly quickly leaned back on her chair and closed her eyes in an attempt to seem asleep.

"Hey... who's this lady?" said the voice of a young boy.

Another knock on the door caused John to speak up.

"Edinburgh door!" he announced, almost cheerfully. The young boy sighed and the sound of his footsteps echoed against the floor as he rushed to the cluttered table.

"John? How did she get in here?" he asked. Molly risked a peek and watched him as he grabbed at a long grey cloak. He was a wiry young boy about the age of eleven. What was he doing in a place like this?

More questions spouted in her mind as soon as the young boy put on the cloak. Somehow, he had taken the appearance of an old man. Was he a wizard too? The young boy walked over to the door.

"Stand by," he said in a gruff tone, and Molly soon realized he had spoken to John, not her.

He placed a hand on the handle and Molly noticed a small colored wheel on the top corner change from green to blue. With it, the lighting that streamed from the window immediately changed from a gentle sunrise to the warm sunshine of the afternoon. The young boy opened the door. Standing there was a stout bearded man, clearly anxious.

"Oh, Mayor, hello," said the young boy.

"Good day sir. Would the great wizard Holmes be at home?"

"I'm afraid he is out for the moment," replied the young boy. "I speak for him in his absence."

The other man nodded and took out a letter from his jacket pocket.

"An invitation from Her Majesty, the Queen; war is upon us and it is requested that every witch and wizard aide our home land."

Finally, Molly opened her eyes and let out a sigh. She stood up to grab a few pieces of fire wood before tossing them in the fire.

"Ridiculous," she muttered, "all this talk of war..."

The sound of the door closing again caused Molly to look up. The young boy walked over to the table and set the letter down, which immediately got lost in the pile of junk.

"What are you doing here, old lady?" said the young boy as he turned around. Molly smiled at him and gestured towards John.

"He said I could come in."

The fire looked briefly at the young boy before he glared at Molly.

"I did _not!_" he whined. "She just wandered in here from The Waste! Senile old woman."

The boy took off his cloak and looked up at Molly.

"From the Wastes?" He looked at John, his expression curious. "How do we know she's not a witch?"

"Do you really think I'd let a witch in here?" scoffed John, causing Molly to giggle. There was another knock on the door. John sighed.

"Edinburgh door, again."

"Hm. Must be a costumer."

Molly watched the young boy put on his disguise again and he walked over to the door. She watched curiously as the boy attended to the costumer, more than a little amused at how he acted. He was languid yet interested at the same time; as if he was above and equal to the people he talked to. She walked over to the window and looked out to see a variety of shops and people milling about.

"It's not the Wastes..." she whispered to herself.

Now rid of the customer, the boy walked up to her.

"Get away from the window," he hissed.

"Why are you wearing a disguise?" she said suddenly. The young boy however only looked at her and smiled.

"I'm practicing my magic. I'm Master Sherlock's protégé; that means when he dies, I get all his stuff."

"Nope," said John from the fireplace.

"And his job."

"No." said John again.

"Well… I help out," the young boy said in an admittance of defeat.

"Closer."

"Well – I'm here so there's that." He said with a huff.

Molly looked at the young boy in amusement.

"What's your name?" she asked him curiously.

"You're the one who broke in – I should be asking you what your name is." He blinked rapidly and stepped back a bit.

"What _is _your name?" he said sheepishly.

"You can call me Molly."

"Oh. I'm Wiggins."

Molly nodded and turned her attention to the door.

"So, about the door..." she began.

"What about it?"

"John mentioned Edinburgh, but we were just in the Wastes!"

"It's a magic door, grandma," sighed Wiggins. Molly decided not to argue against his jibe. Instead, she walked over to the door. Again she spotted the wheel at the corner, compromised of only four colors: red, blue, green, and black.

She opened the door and popped her head round. There, she saw the small shops and took in the smell of the water, the sound of birds in the air, and she quickly concluded that this particular place was beautiful. She popped her head back in and changed the color back to green. Once she opened the door, she spotted the familiar sight of the Wastes, grey and cold and that eternally whistling wind. Closing the door, she tried another color and opened the door.

"London!" she gasped as a familiar red bus passed down the street. She'd missed the sight of those. "Wow, this is amazing!"

Wiggins sighed from inside. "Come on," he told her.

"And leave the door alone, I'm getting angry," he huffed.

"Oh, would you calm down," she said with a teasing grin, causing Wiggins to let out another disgruntled huff of air.

"So tell me," she said, slowly making her way back up the stairs. "Where does the black one lead?"

"Only Master Sherlock knows," he said as he made his way to the cluttered table, grabbing a few pieces of bread and cheese before he plopped on the floor.

"I'm starving," he muttered as he took a bite of his bread.

Molly cocked her head. "Don't you want to have some real breakfast? Something you know – cooked?"

Wiggins nodded as he took another big bite of bread. "Yeah, but we can't use the fire unless Master Sherlock is home."

Molly walked over and grabbed one of the pans on the wall and smiled.

"Don't worry – I can cook a pretty decent meal," she said innocently as she made her way to the fire. Wiggins shrugged.

"It doesn't matter if you can cook. John doesn't listen to anyone but Master Sherlock."

Molly continued to ignore the young boy as she set the pan near the fire.

"Now don't be stubborn, John," she told him. "Let's make Wiggins a nice breakfast shall we?

John glared daggers at the old lady. "I don't cook!" he hissed. "I'm a powerful fire demon! Who doesn't cook!"

"So you said," Molly muttered, glaring as she set the pan over him. She scowled when he protested by spitting out long lengths of flame at her.

"John Watson, how would you like a cold bucket of water in your face?" She shifted closer, lowering her voice. "Or perhaps I can tell Sherlock about our little agreement?"

John frowned.

"Fine," he muttered bitterly. "I _never_ should have let you in here."

"That's a good fire," replied Molly, ignoring his last comment as she put the pan over his head.

Molly cooked silently as Wiggins watched in awe.

"So are you just going to stand there and stare?" she asked after a moment.

"I, uh—"

"A nice cuppa sounds nice. Do you have a kettle?"

Wiggins nodded and hurried to find a kettle among the piles of trash. After some moments of rummaging, he emerged with a kettle and went to fill it with water before handing it to her.

"Wiggins! What are you doing?! Whose side are you on?! You traitor!" hissed John, making Molly burst into giggles.

The sound of the door caused everyone to look towards it. In came Sherlock. Wiggins immediately went to his side. Meanwhile, Molly stared at the man she had bumped to only a day ago. She had completely forgotten just how utterly handsome he was. Molly blushed. She was an old woman now and old women didn't openly gawk at men. She turned her attention back to the food she was cooking.

"Master Sherlock," said Wiggins. "There was a letter brought for you – they want you to report to the castle as Holmes."

Molly shook her head. Sherlock ignored the young boy as he made his way up to her. Molly froze in her place but the food continued to cook.

"John?" he said, his baritone voice sending a thrill through her spine. "You're being so – obedient."

"It's not my fault! She bullied me!" huffed John.

Sherlock's brows shot up and he turned to Molly. His eyes briefly looked her up and down before he let out a small, almost approving hum in the back of his throat.

"And you are?" he asked curiously.

Molly's eyes widened.

"I uh... I – I'm Molly... You can call me Molly!" she squeaked nervously.

Sherlock nodded. "Alright... Molly. Why are you here?"

Molly blinked and looked over at John.

"H-he hired me as your new cleaning lady," she blurted out.

"What?!" shouted John in the background, incredulous, but of course he was ignored.

"Y-Yes, he did!" she said quickly. "He's tired of seeing such a mess all the time."

Sherlock hummed and glanced at John.

"Tea," he said suddenly. "I'll be in my mind palace."

"Mind palace?" she repeated.

"Yes."

Molly watched him walk over to the couch and lay down and her eyes narrowed as he tucked his hands under his chin and let out a breath before closing his eyes.

"What's a mind palace?" asked Molly as Wiggins came to her side to pour Sherlock some tea.

"It's a memory technique," he told her. "It doesn't have to be an actual place. The way it works is, you put information there, and theoretically you'll never forget it – you just have to find your way back to it."

"So this imaginary place could be anything? A house? A park?" she asked.

"Yeah," replied Wiggins as he padded over to the still Sherlock.

"But he – he said _palace._ He called it a palace," she said as she turned to look at John.

John gave a sudden chuckle. "Yeah, well. He would, wouldn't he?"

Molly again looked over to Sherlock. It wasn't every day that she heard about someone having a mind palace, but then again, you didn't meet people like Sherlock Holmes every day.

"How curious," she whispered to herself. Sherlock Holmes truly _was_ something new.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone! I've finally decided to continue this story! I've been away for almost seven months— eek! I'm terribly sorry! I've decided to start striving away from the film a little. Instead I'm going to reference the book a bit more, since it's an amazingly cute story! You should all read it if you get a chance, I'll also be adding a few dark themes and hopefully I can come up with a great mash up of the book, movie, and BBC Sherlock! You may be wondering 'All three!? BUT CAN SHE DO IT!?' Welp, I guess we'll see. This chapter isn't Beta'd, rest assure I have sent out an email, however, I am a very impatient creature and decided to go ahead and just post it. **

**Anyways, I'm glad to be writing for this story again! I really missed it!**

**Leave me reviews, I love them, and they encourage me to continue! **

**Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The sky illuminated with the light of the burning city underneath, Sherlock flew low, seeing the mess that the war had done, it seemed like yet again another city got caught in the crossfire. How long would this unnecessary war go on? There was many ways that this war could have been avoided; however, no one stepped forward to take charge. Even his brother, who so proudly works under the Queen's eye cowered like a scared pup and followed without hesitation, even going as far as doing the Queen's dirty work and "recruiting" witches and wizards from all over the country to do her bidding. Of course, there was those who opposed the war, like Sherlock himself did, he had heard rumors of witches and wizards who refused to participate – rumors went on to say that those who opposed the Queen were killed, or imprisoned, others said they stripped them of their powers which was a punishment much worse than death or imprisonment, but, that's what they all were, silly rumors. He hated to think that his brother would stoop so low as to actively participate in stripping witches and wizards of their powers, for he was once a wizard who encouraged all to learn magic.

Sherlock shook his head then, he couldn't believe how much his brother had changed, and how stupid he had been for once letting him drag him along, making Sherlock believe that magic would one day be the salvation this country needed, he had been stupid not see that they meant to use magic as a weapon for the war. Sherlock continued to fly over the burning city; even though he refused to get involve in the war it didn't mean he couldn't do things to delay it. He scanned the city until finally he saw it, a small blue orb, undetectable to common humans and most witches and wizards; however, Sherlock was no common wizard and that was as modest as he would get, according to John.

Messenger orbs were a way for many to send messages without being detected, and that was the very reason Sherlock Holmes was always on the hunt for them. Many contained locations of possible cities that would soon the same fate as many before, being set ablaze by corrupted witches and wizards, and Sherlock couldn't let any more innocent people die.

Sherlock swooped in to grab the orb, but just as he reached over for it he was quickly tackled. Sherlock landed on the ground with a loud thud and looked up to see a scaled beast with razor sharp eyes, although he sported the body of a creature, his eyes told Sherlock that he was human— or rather wizard. A smirk appeared on Sherlock's face as he used his powerful legs to push him forward and tackle the beast. His opponent let out a howl as Sherlock used his claws to dig into its flesh. The beast pushed Sherlock off and aimed his teeth at Sherlock's neck, which Sherlock avoided gracefully.

"I have a message for you." hissed the Wizard.

"Oh? You can talk? I'm surprised you still have the ability to do that." he said sarcastically, "I guess they haven't taken _all_ of your free will."

The beast let out an irritated hiss, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes.

"What is this message?" he said in a rather bored tone.

The Wizard—beast glared at him with dark beady eyes, "He wants you to back off." He hissed.

Sherlock made a face, "Who does?"

"M." he said simply.

"And who is 'M'?" he sighed in an irritated tone.

The beast made a face that resembled a sneer before letting out a scoff and flapping his wings to fly off, completely ignoring Sherlock's question, and if there was one thing Sherlock hated, it was being ignored. Before he could move any further, Sherlock tugged hard at his wings, causing the creature to let out a pained squawk. He spun around and tackled Sherlock; the two were a ball of feathers and wings as they fought through the air. Sherlock bit the creature's neck hard.

"Tell me who M is!" he muffled through its flesh.

"Go to hell!" hissed the creature in reply.

The creature used its claw to dig into Sherlock's leg causing him to cry out and let go of him. The creature attempted to fly away, only to get caught by Sherlock's strong talons; he used his weight to push them down, causing them to crash hard on the floor. The creature let out a pained howl as Sherlock gripped his neck.

"I won't ask you again." he warned, "Who. Is. M?"

The creature looked at him and Sherlock could almost see fear in its eyes, when he didn't reply Sherlock slowly began twisting his neck, hearing the crunch of his bones with each movement. The creature gasped for air, its legs kicking as Sherlock continued to apply pressure.

"M-Moriarty!" he screamed before he fell unconscious.

Sherlock let go of him, he stared cold faced at the limp body, and he couldn't bring himself to kill him— not even if he had corrupted his magic to kill the innocent. Though, at this point he probably wished he were dead, they'd know eventually what happened here and Sherlock knew he wouldn't live long after that. He expanded his long feathery wings and soared up into the sky, he was curious to whom this 'Moriarty' was and why they were so keen on keeping him away.

"But from what? He murmured to himself.

* * *

It was quiet when he entered his castle; the only light throughout the sitting area was John's fire, bouncing lightly off the walls. He noticed how much cleaner the place looked and it was a sight he had long forgotten, his eyes also spotted a makeshift "tent" made of blankets perched up in the corner. Sherlock stared at it quizzically until heard the soft breathing coming from behind the curtain of blankets. Sherlock let out a soft breath as he dragged his feathered wings to his chair.

"You look awful." commented John.

Sherlock slumped in his chair; his head slumped back before turning to look at John.

"Is it that bad out there?" asked the fire quietly.

"It just keeps getting worse and worse." he replied.

Sherlock let out a soft groan as his muscles began to relax, the feathers seemed to molt off his body, dissolving in the air before they hit the ground, and once again Sherlock looked human.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Asked John, concern filling his voice.

"Because someone needs to stop this war." He replied seriously.

"I thought you weren't going to get involved!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Who said I was getting involved? I'm merely— trying to ruin their plans, maybe then they'll see how ridiculous this war is." He scoffed.

"They came around again. The Queens guards, they want you to report in." said John seriously.

"By Queen you mean Mycroft?"

John let out a laugh, "Well— Yes." he said, "Sherlock, don't make a mess of this, you know what they do to wizards who do report in."

Sherlock let out a sigh, "I'll figure something out." He said finally.

"Of course you will." Replied John, though Sherlock could hear the doubt in his voice, was his friend losing faith in him?

He rolled his eyes before flicking his hands dismissively; he turned his head once more and surveyed the entirety of the sitting room.

"This place looks—"

"Cleaner?" finished John.

"Yes."

"Molly's doing a great job taking care of the place. Billy has grown a bit attached to her too."

Sherlock's eyes settled on the makeshift tent, "He made her that?" he asked.

"Yes, he felt bad that we didn't have an extra room for her so he grabbed all the blankets and pillows he could find to make her comfortable."

"And you? Do you like her? Molly." he said her name slowly.

"Yes, she's a bit stubborn but it's nothing I can't handle and plus— look! She left me firewood in case I run out and there's no one here." John dragged a piece of fire wood towards him before settling it snugly besides him.

Sherlock's lip quirked up and stood up before walking over to the draped blankets and pulling them back slightly, he looked down at the sleeping form on the makeshift bed, though this wasn't the old woman he had met a few days earlier— no. She looked younger, her face, more relaxed, her small lips parted slightly as she let out a soft breath, a small blush crept on her face, as if she knew he was looking at her, he recognized her—He remembered now, he had saved her once. He had almost deleted the event, but he remembered her.

"Molly." he said softly, "You must have really upset someone to make them put this curse on you."

He stepped back and turned to look at John, who was staring at him curiously. He could feel the pain in his leg and he had almost forgotten about the fight from earlier—almost. His thoughts went back to the name 'Moriarty' his curiosity had certainly peaked and he knew he'd have to find out more on who this person might be and why they wanted them to stay away, was he getting close to discovering something?

"You should go rest." said John, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts.

"Use a bit of healing spells and you'll look good as new by the morning."

Sherlock nodded and walked towards his bedroom, he glanced over to where Molly laid asleep as he walked over to his bedroom he could feel the warmth of John's fire as he burned just a bit brighter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi! I'm back! I want to thank my wonderful beta for agreeing to continue being my beta after being gone so long, heh. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

**Feel free to review**

**I own nothing! **

**Until next time.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Molly let out an annoyed huff as she swept the kitchen area—yet again. No matter how hard she tried, this place could seemingly never get clean. She could blink, and the place would be twice as dirty as it had been before.

"Molly are you okay?" she heard John say from the fireplace.

"Oh! I'm bloody fantastic," she said drily, "because I just love how messy this place gets."

"Alright," muttered John. "Just asking, geez."

Molly snorted, but still continued to clean. When she was finished, and she'd managed to get everything clean, she wiped sweat off her brow and stared at the clean kitchen.

"Finally," she sighed.

The door to Sherlock's room burst open. Out the great wizard came, his hair a mess of wild curls. Molly stared at him, blushing when she realized that he was only wearing a sheet.

"Are you wearing any pants?" said John.

"What for?" replied Sherlock in a bored tone.

Molly turned a darker shade of red as Sherlock walked over to the kitchen table where his potions were now organized in alphabetical order.

"John?" said Sherlock said suddenly.

"What is it now?" the fire sighed in reply.

"Why did you let Molly move around my potions?" he asked, as if she wasn't standing right there.

Molly frowned lightly and placed her hands on her hips.

"I can't stop her from cleaning!" John protested.

Sherlock nearly whined. "Why not?"

"Well first of all I'm stuck in this fireplace. And I've got other things on my mind than to supervise her."

"What's so important that you can't keep her away from my things?"

"Hm, let's see—MAYBE KEEPING THIS BLOODY CASTLE PROTECTED! WHO DO YOU THINK DOES ALL THAT! CERTAINLY NOT YOU!"

Sherlock let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. "You don't have to be so dramatic."

"DRAMATIC! I SWEAR IF I WEREN'T STUCK HERE I'D—"

"What's wrong with me organizing your potions?" said Molly suddenly, finding her voice above all the dramatics. "It's not my fault that I want to clean up around here! Not everyone it too keen in living in a pigsty!"

Sherlock paused, and glanced at her. It was as if he'd, at last, noticed she was there.

"You must admit I have a right to live in a pigsty if I want." He plopped down on the chair. "I'm in the mood for tea," he mused, reaching over for one of his potions.

"Make your own bloody tea," she muttered.

"John?" He said as if the demon would actually do something about Molly's defiance.

"I'm siding with her this time," John muttered.

"You're taking her side! This – this horribly bossy, appallingly clean old woman!" He glanced at her and frowned. "You have to control yourself! You're victimizing all of us."

"Control myself?! Me? You're telling me to control myself!?" Molly scoffed. "Maybe you should think before you speak."

Sherlock glared. "Dreadful old woman – all I wanted was some tea."

Molly opened her mouth to hiss out an insult but down came Wiggins from his room, his footsteps heavy against the wooden stairs, his face buried in a book as he wiggled the fingers of his free hand.

"Fruit drink… Marking ink, soft drink, eye blink – c'mon turn pink!" he chanted.

Molly watched as he made his way to the kitchen where Sherlock muttered rapidly to himself, their argument long forgotten.

She heard Wiggins continue to chant. "Fruit drink…marking ink…"

The tips of his fingers sparkled pink as he kept repeating the spell. Right until a blot of pink sparkles shot out of his hand and bolted to Sherlock, knocking him out of his chair.

Wiggins gasped.

"Master Sherlock!" He ran up to the man on the floor. "Master! Are you—?"

The words quickly died from his lips when Sherlock sat up with a groan. Molly stared, open-mouthed, at him. Sherlock's skin had completely turned pink! He met her stare, causing him to furrow his brows.

"What!?" he said. He turned to look at Wiggins. "How many times have I told you _not_ to cast spells and walk at the same time? You're still learn—"

"Your skin!" Molly squeaked.

"Yes, I have skin! Brilliant observation, Molly! You should quit housekeeping and become a doctor," he muttered.

"What she's trying to say is your skin is _pink!_" said John.

Sherlock blinked back in surprise as he slowly looked down at his pink hands. Almost immediately, he shot a glare at Wiggins, who in return stared at him with wide, scared eyes.

"I-I-I" he began.

"Billy!" he roared before rounding on Molly.

"YOU! Learn to control him!" He pointed a finger at Wiggins.

"_Me?_" she retorted. "Why me? He won't listen to me!"

Sherlock looked down at his hands and arms. He let out a low, dangerous growl. In a matter of seconds, he was up on his feet and stomping towards Wiggins. The young boy's only response was to try and run away.

"Oh no you don't!" shouted Sherlock as he began to chase him around the kitchen. Wiggins, in his hurry and panic, bumped into the table and a few bottles of potions rapidly went flying.

"Hey! Knock it off you two!" shouted Molly as Sherlock continued to chase Billy. At her words, the boy sprinted up behind her and pulled at her dress, hiding himself behind her. Sherlock was a wizard on a rampage as he stomped his way over to them. Just as he got closer, and had Billy almost within his reach, he stepped on his sheet, causing him to tumble down flat on his face.

The room grew quiet and they all stared at Sherlock who laid flat on his face. A giggle escaped Molly's lips. She clamped them shut; only causing more giggles to come out. Soon she was laughing hard. She clutched her stomach as her laughter echoed through the room. She was quickly joined by Wiggins.

"Shut. Up," protested Sherlock, which only caused them to laugh louder.

The wizard picked himself up and glared at them. When he heard John's laugh, he looked at him with wide eyes as if hurt by the fire demon's betrayal. Sherlock pouted.

"I'm going to my room," he said sulkily. "Where I might die."

He slammed the door to his room and Molly waited for their laughter to die down before looking down at Wiggins.

"You need to be more careful with how you practice your magic," she told him, her tone more serious.

"I'm sorry," said the boy.

Molly let out a huff of air and glanced over to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Though, I must admit…" she said, glancing down at the green eyed boy. "Pink is a good color on him."

The three once more burst into fits of laughter.

* * *

Molly walked alongside a disguised Wiggins, down the cobblestone streets, towards the market to buy some food.

"Billy," asked Molly curiously, "how did you end up as Sherlock's apprentice?"

She had often wondered how the two had met, considering how they were so frequently at odds with one another.

"My parents were farmers," he told her. "We had a very dry spring one year – I was seven. My parents were desperate to make their crops grow, if not we'd starve. They'd have me digging in the fields until the sun went down – hoping something would happen. "

Molly stared down at the young boy with sad eyes. She wasn't rich, but she'd been well off not to worry about her next meal.

"My father went to seek out the help of our town's wizard," Billy continued. "A wizard by the name Magnussen. Everyone believed him to be this kind man who wanted nothing but to help the town folks. But really, all he wanted was to manipulate and exploit them when they were desperate."

"That's awful," she said softly.

"Mm. Anyway, my father went to him – pleading to give him a spell to save his crops and he was happy to oblige only if they gave up something that was precious to them. Us being poor, I was the only thing that was truly precious to them, so they gave me up."

Molly stared at him. Billy idly glanced at the market's sign as they passed it, and she wanted simply to pull him into a hug and tell him nothing bad would ever happen to him again.

"Wizard Magnussen was terrible. He'd have me clean until my hands ached." Wiggins picked out a selection of plums. "One day he met up with Master Sherlock. Master Sherlock tricked him into giving me to him."

"How did he do that?"

"He told him he had dirt on the witch of the waste, but he would only exchange it for my freedom. Magnussen was happy to comply. Though he weren't too happy when he realized Sherlock was lying about the information. But, well, I was free by then."

Molly nodded.

"I didn't want to go home so I asked Master Sherlock if I could tag along. Surprised he said yes. I had learned a few spells during my stay at Wizard Magnussen's and he agreed to let me be his apprentice. I've been with him for three years now," he said with a bright smile.

Molly smiled softly. Despite what Sherlock so often said about Wiggins, he did truly have a soft spot for the boy.

xXx

The two chatted as they made their way back to the castle. Molly found she really enjoyed spending time with Billy. In the past, she always wondered if she'd have children, but as she got older—younger than she was now—the idea of children soon disappeared and she focused more on her studies. It wasn't like she saw Billy as her child of course. More like the little brother she never had. Though if she ever had one (a child), she wouldn't mind if they ended up like him. As they walked, she spotted movement in the corner of her eye. She stopped, causing Wiggins to glance over to her and follow her gaze. His breath caught in his throat. Molly pushed Wiggins back slightly. The demon, much like the ones that had chased her and Sherlock when they first met, only stood. Yet no-one seemed to notice it. People walked past it as if it wasn't there.

"Why are they just walking passed it like that?" she whispered.

"It must be using a spell. Must be here to look for something," he told her

"Or someone," she replied.

"Come on," Wiggins said quietly. "Let's go tell Sherlock."

He took a hold of her hand, and the two hurried home.

* * *

"Master Sherlock!" shouted Wiggins as they entered through the door.

Sherlock, in deep conversation with John, looked up at the sound of Wiggins' voice.

"We saw—" he said breathlessly, "saw a demon!"

"What did it look like?" Sherlock asked.

"It was tall and dark! It had no face!" replied Wiggins rapidly.

Sherlock locked eyes with Molly. She nodded once. His face shifted into a smile as he looked down at Wiggins.

"I see," he said. He stood, straightening his suit.

"How about we go out for lunch today?" he said casually.

"What?" said Molly, while Billy responded with an excited, "Really?!" The thoughts about demons were clearly long forgotten in his young mind.

"Didn't you hear? There's a demon out there!" shouted Molly. Sherlock walked past her and grabbed his coat, before slipping it on and grabbing his scarf. Molly tried again. "We think it's looking for something – or someone!"

Sherlock paused, eyeing her. "I think I'm in the mood for fish and chips, what do you think?"

"Yes! That sounds amazing!" replied Wiggins in excitement as he bounded beside Sherlock like an excited puppy.

"I'll just stay here then!" grumbled John from the fireplace, but again, everyone proceeded to ignore him.

Sherlock glanced over at Molly and shot her a dazzling smile.

"Well – are you coming?"

He didn't wait for her response. Watching him slip out of the door, Molly let out a sigh.

"Why doesn't anyone ever listen?" she muttered. Picking up her skirts, she made her way towards the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone! Thanks to all of you who are reading this and thanks to my wonderful beta for being amazingly amazing, heh. As always I own nothing, unfortunately. **

**Feel free to leave a review~**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Molly sat at the picnic table, eating what she could say was one of the best fish and chips she had ever had; and they'd been free too! The man who owned the place had once got help from Sherlock, via some spell to allow him the ability to always catch good fish, no matter the weather or the season, or something like that. Molly had honestly drowned out the man's chatter once she had taken her first bite of the delicious fish.

She could hear Sherlock and Wiggins bickering a few meters away. The wizard had taken the opportunity to teach Wiggins a few spells and the young apprentice was ecstatic. Molly could see how excited the poor boy was to be spending some actual time with Sherlock. He was always stuck back at the castle or running errands with her. He clearly missed Sherlock, missed spending time with him, and from the smile Sherlock was forcing to conceal, he also missed spending time with the young apprentice. A soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she watched them. When the two weren't yelling at each other, they were actually a bit sweet.

"I did it! Did you see that, Master Sherlock!?" she heard Wiggins shout in excitement. Sherlock chuckled and nodded.

"Good – good! Why don't you show Molly your new spell?" replied the wizard.

Wiggins looked over at the older woman and waved to catch her attention.

"Molly! Molly! Come look at the new spell I learned!" he yelled.

Molly giggled and slowly got up, making her way to the wizard and the apprentice.

xXx

As she walked over to the small clearing where the two had settled to practice their magic, she realized how much easier it had gotten for her to walk and move around. She no longer felt like an eighty year old woman, but she still looked old, well—not as old as she did. There was times where she did feel older and weaker, but other times she'd feel more energized. It made her wonder if the others could feel it too.

Wiggins ran around her like an excited puppy before he took a hold of her hand and dragged her towards Sherlock.

"Billy!" she scowled, "give an old woman a break."

Wiggins laughed and let go of her hand before settling in front of her and Sherlock.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he told her, "I just really want to show you!"

Molly giggled and looked down at the boy with amusement.

"Alright, show me," she mused.

Wiggins parted his legs slightly in an attack stance, causing Molly to look at Sherlock with a confused look. Sherlock met her look with a shrug and turned his attention back at the boy. Wiggins took a deep breath and wiggled his fingers.

"Magnoliophyta!" he shouted.

Molly stood still, waiting patiently for something to happen. She opened her mouth to ask what the point of the spell was, when she saw dozens of flowers blooming at her feet. Molly let out a soft gasp as she watched the flowers, all of different sizes and flowers appear from the ground.

"Billy," she gasped, "these are beautiful!"

Wiggins grinned proudly as he continued to wiggle his fingers, causing more flowers to bloom.

"You'll be a great wizard one day," she praised at the little boy.

Wiggins stopped moving his hands and smiled widely. "You really think so!?"

Molly nodded.

"You might even be better than Master Sherlock," she teased lightly.

Sherlock let out a scoff.

"That's unlikely," he muttered under his breath.

Molly scowled at the dark haired wizard, who in return picked a flower from the ground and handed it to her. Molly's scowl quickly turned into a blush as she accepted the flower.

"Thank you," she said meekly. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but a voice interjected first.

"Aw, do I get a flower too?" purred a feminine voice behind Molly.

Sherlock looked over Molly's shoulder and frowned. Molly slowly turned around and saw something that caused her to step back, her chest tight. The Witch of the Waste herself, Irene Adler.

* * *

Sherlock shot a glance at Wiggins and Molly.

"Stay here," he ordered. Wiggins settled beside Molly as they watched Sherlock walk over to Irene.

"I hate that woman," she heard Wiggins say quietly.

Molly continued to watch Sherlock, her gaze glancing over at Irene who was staring at her. With a grin, she shot her a wink, causing Molly to furrow her brows.

"Me too," she replied, looking back to Wiggins and taking a hold of the young boy's hand. "Come on, let's go finish our lunch."

Quickly, she led him as far away from that woman as she possibly could.

xXx

Sherlock stormed up to Irene, coming to a halt in front of her.

"What do you want?" he hissed.

"My, that's no way to talk to an old friend."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We're not friends," he remarked.

Irene ignored him and looked past him at Molly and Wiggins.

"Oh, did I interrupt a family outing?" she asked with a grin. "I must say what a strange little family you have, Sherlock. An old woman and a little orphaned boy, quite the bunch."

She glanced up at him and giggled. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Don't bring them into this. How did you find us?"

"Oh, I have a few little demons around town looking for you."

He remembered what Billy and Molly had said.

"Should have known they were sent by you." he said with a smirk.

"You should know me by now."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Why are you here?"

Irene continued to ignore his words and placed a cold hand against his cheek.

"Oh, Sherlock," she cooed, "don't forget about the curse I put on you."

Sherlock wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her away from him.

"How can I forget when you're constantly reminding me?" he scoffed.

Irene laughed. "Do I really do that?" She gave him a pout. "That doesn't sound like something I'd do."

Sherlock huffed. He always forgot how much he truly detested this woman, but each time she showed up, something always happened to make him remember.

"What do you want, Irene?"

"I've heard talk about a Wizard by the name of Moriarty," she began.

Sherlock seemed to perk at the name. "Oh? And what about them?"

Irene fumbled with the button of his shirt and glanced up to meet his eyes. "I heard he's been a bit naughty – making this war even more annoying than it already is."

Sherlock stared at her carefully. "So you just came here to tell me about this wizard?"

"No," she said playfully.

"Then what—" he began.

"Oh Sherlock, stop being such a damper. The reason I told you is because I need your help."

Sherlock sighed and nodded, urging her to continue.

"There's this woman," she began. "Her name is Janine – she claims to know who this Moriarty is and where to find him."

"But?" he added.

"But she refuses to make that information known," she told him. "I've tried everything to get her to talk – spells, potions… I even flirted with her and nothing!"

"And why are you telling me this?"

"She didn't seem really interested in me," Irene said simply. She leaned in and gave him a flirtatious smile. "Maybe she'll like a dark haired, blue-green eyed wizard instead?"

Sherlock let out an annoyed huff. Irene tried again.

"I want this war over as much as you do, Sherlock."

Sherlock locked eyes with her.

"You haven't reported in?" he asked her.

"I have not."

"You can get in a lot of trouble for that," he said.

"You're one to talk," she replied with a grin. "So you'll go pay her a visit?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked, clearly bored.

"No – but maybe you'll have better luck than I did." She waved her hand lazily and a black piece of paper appeared in her hand with Janine's information written elegantly in silver. Sherlock took the paper and looked it over.

"I should leave before your girlfriend gets jealous," she said in amusement. "I didn't know you like them so – old."

Sherlock frowned.

"She's not my girlfriend," he hissed. "Simply my cleaning lady."

Irene chuckled. "Is that what you're saying to yourself? Now, I must dash – my ride's waiting."

Behind her, in a plume of purple smoke, two demons appeared, carrying what appeared to be a carriage. Irene stepped away.

"I look forward to our next encounter, Sherlock," she said as she slipped inside the carriage.

"I don't," he replied, and she laughed again as he slipped the piece of paper into his pocket.

* * *

Wiggins had fallen asleep on Molly's lap while she was sat on one of the chairs near the fireplace. Softly, Sherlock played his violin as Molly rubbed at Wiggins' back. The boy had fallen asleep as soon as he'd sat down and she had taken him in her arms, the day's events having really caught up to him. After their return from the park, Molly gave John some fish and chips she had saved for him, earning her a notch on his list in the process. Though most of the time they spent together they spent bickering, John seemed to really have taken a liking to her, and she liked him. When not bickering over the cleaning or the cooking or anything else, Molly had used the other times to really get to know the fire demon and he was funny, charming, and a bit endearing.

She glanced over at the demon, who was dozing off to the sound of Sherlock's music. Her thoughts suddenly went back to earlier. The Witch of the Waste, despite her vanity and her selfishness, was incredibly beautiful and her standing there beside Sherlock, it had made them look like one of the most gorgeous couples Molly had ever laid her eyes on.

Molly let out a sigh, and brushed at her skirts. Even if she were young—younger—she'd never be able to compete with her. Molly paused. She frowned to herself. Why would she even want to compete with her? Yes, Irene was beautiful, and although Molly didn't possess the looks, she was still far kinder than that woman was. Molly closed her eyes. Why was she even comparing herself to her? It wasn't like she was jealous. Sure she was jealous of Irene's youth, but that was all, of course it was. She certainly wasn't jealous of the way she looked at Sherlock or the way she acted around him. Why would she? It wasn't like she liked him, or his behaviors. He was stubborn, rude, and completely childish. She would never in a million years get involved with a man like him, and it wasn't like he'd be interested in her anyway. She wasn't pretty, _and_ she was an old woman. Sherlock, apparently, only stole the hearts of _young _and pretty women. Molly was neither.

The song ended and Sherlock settled in the chair across from her. He studied her face carefully before setting the violin down.

"That was lovely," she commented. "Did you use a spell to learn to play?"

Sherlock scoffed lightly. "No – I learned when I was young, long before I got into magic."

Molly nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't mean—"

"You should really stop that," he said.

"Stop what?"

"Apologizing all the time. You shouldn't have to. I know you don't mean to offend me," he assured her.

Molly nodded once more, looking back to where John was snoozing. "Alright."

She let the conversation die, listening to the small cracking of the flickering flames and Billy's soft breathing.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

"I suppose," he replied.

"You and The witch of the waste…"

"Yes?"

"A-Are you two? Were you two—?"

"Together?" he finished.

Molly nodded.

"I suppose we were – a long time ago."

Molly made a face. "Oh."

Sherlock stared at her curiously. "When I first met Irene, she was full of life, she didn't do magic simply to torment people. She was cunning and smart," he told her. His expression darkened. "And I was weak."

He glanced at anything but her.

"We became involved – as a result, I got to see just how terrible she truly was. After I left, she grew jealous and vindictive." He shrugged causally. "She's hated me ever since."

Molly stared, open-mouthed at him. "Well – well…that's certainly something." She breathed. She shook her head a little and smiled brightly. "I'm sure you'll find someone one day."

Sherlock's lip twitched in amusement.

"I'll certainly endeavor to," he said. Finally he stood up. "I should let you sleep."

He leaned in to pick up Wiggins from her lap, and the young boy let out a groan.

"Don't let the spiders touch me…." said Wiggins sleepily.

"I won't," replied Sherlock.

"Thank you…." muttered Wiggins before snuggling against him. Molly giggled and stood up.

"Good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock walked up to the steps and looked over at Molly. For some reason, some unfathomable reason, she looked younger. Her hair was brown and soft, and her skin glowed with youth. A contrast to the wrinkles and grey hair he saw every day. Much more like the Molly he had met in the alley. He bowed his head lightly.

"Good night, Molly."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone! Happy New Year! Sorry it's taken me so long to get a new chapter in. I was busy with school and work. Thank you all for for reading my story feel free to review! I want to thank my wonderful beta for looking over my work!**

**enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Molly had seen less and less of Sherlock as the days following Irene's visit occurred. He was starting to come home at all hours of the night and sometimes not at all. It made her worry. She had known that the war had become a difficult topic for Sherlock and perhaps everything that was going on around him was finally starting to get to him. It made Molly feel bad, she even tried to avoid asking him anything on the days he was home, for fear of causing more stress in his life. That was all until she found out where Sherlock had been sneaking off to.

Molly sipped tentively at her tea as she sat in the armchair, facing the fireplace.

"Did Sherlock come home last night?" she asked the fire demon curiously. John gave her a look and hummed.

"Yes," he said slowly, in a tone that frankly, Molly didn't like.

"Why are you saying it like that?" she asked curiously.

"Well…" he began, "Not sure if you'll like what I tell you."

Molly rose a brow. "Oh? Don't tell me _she's _here," she said with an eye roll.

Janine. Molly had, she had to admit, taken a dislike for that woman. She tried to be friendly, but apparently the woman had proved less than receptive. She had met her only once. She had just managed to put Billy to bed, and she was exhausted from a long day when Sherlock waltzed into the castle with an arm around a giggling woman's waist. It seemed the two had returned from a party and Sherlock was clearly very drunk.

"Are you drunk!?" she had asked him.

"Me? I can assure you, I am cold stone sober," slurred Sherlock. He giggled and let go of the woman, only to hold onto Molly, causing the woman to whine and Molly to blush.

"Sherllll!" she pouted lightly.

"Oh – oh!" said Sherlock in realization.

"J-Janine! This – this is my-my Molly, er-no! She's my-my umm…" He flashed her a goofy grin, causing Molly to raise a brow. "C-Cleaning lady!" he said suddenly.

Janine nodded slowly and shot her a look before completely disregarded her, and turned to Sherlock. "Sherl, I don't want to stay in this boring old place, let's go back to my place."

Sherlock nodded and the two swayed out of the room. Molly scowled as she remembered that night, but her thoughts were broken by John's laughter.

"Molly, don't tell me you're jealous!" he said with a grin.

Molly blushed and frowned at the fire demon. "Me? Why would I be jealous?"

She glared at the fire demon who only laughed in return.

" John Watson," she said warningly, "keep your mouth shut before I dump this tea on you."

"I'll die!" he whined.

"That's the point."

"If I die then so does Sherlock," he grumbled pointedly. Molly let out a sigh. Her thoughts went back to Sherlock. It wasn't like she was jealous of his new relationship with Janine. She was happy for him. She seemed… lovely. She sighed and glanced at John only for him to look at the direction of Sherlock's bedroom, where they could hear the door now opening.

The dark haired woman exited the bedroom, clutching one of Sherlock's robes against her chest to cover herself up. John groaned, annoyed at her sudden appearance and Molly glared, causing him to pull back, eyes wide and overly focused on the tea in her hands. Janine wandered through the kitchen as if looking for something. Molly was almost tempted to ignore her, but her being, well, her, she had to say something.

"Uh-" she began.

"Coffee," Janine said suddenly. "Where do you keep your coffee?"

Molly closed her mouth and blinked. "Er, I could make you some if you'd like," she said with a polite smile.

"No," she told her. "Sherl told me not to let the cleaning lady make the coffee."

Molly's brows knitted together. "Why not? He always has me make him coffee…"

The woman let out a bored sigh and shrugged. "Maybe he just doesn't like the way you make it…"

Molly could hear John mutter something that sounded like "Bloody hell!" in the background, but Molly ignored him. Instead she pointed to the pantry.

"It's in there," she said before making her way back to where she had been sitting.

"Sherlock loves your coffee," said the fire demon reassuringly. "Trust me, I know."

Molly smiled at him.

"You're very sweet," she told him, "If my lips wouldn't burn off, I'd give you a kiss."

Molly giggled at John's reaction. He seemed to turn a darker shade of red, and Molly could swear the _all powerful_ fire demon was blushing.

* * *

Molly muttered angrily to herself as she cleaned up the kitchen.

"If she would just had let me made the bloody coffee I wouldn't be cleaning this mess up," she grumbled under her breath. Molly heard the soft click of the Sherlock's door unlocking and heard two voices talking.

"I had fun," said Janine.

"I'm glad you did," replied Sherlock. The two entered the kitchen, Janine dressed in a pretty blue dress while Sherlock was dressed in a red dress gown. Molly scowled lightly as Sherlock led Janine towards the door and followed a ways behind before settling beside the fire, who was wearing the same expression as the old woman.

"I'll see you later," purred Janine as she wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Yes you will."

Molly heard John make a disapproving noise as Janine leaned in to kiss Sherlock on the lips. Both Molly and John exchanged looks while they watched the two and honestly it was awkward and something in Molly made her mad. She wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps John was right with his earlier words, maybe she was jealous? The thought made her even more upset.

She sat in her chair and watched Sherlock settle into the one across hers, a smug look gracing that handsome, annoying face.

"Do shut up, John," he said suddenly.

"What! I didn't say anything!" whined the fire.

"You were thinking it." He waved his arm dismissively. "It's annoying."

John muttered an insult but Sherlock ignored him, and he looked over at Molly with a raised brow.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Molly blinked.

"You shouldn't be bringing strange women home!" she blurted out.

Both John and Sherlock looked at her curiously.

"I can do whatever I want," replied the wizard suddenly. "You're not my mother, though—" he gave her a grin, "You are around the same age."

Molly frowned and opened her mouth to retaliate, but Sherlock quickly interrupted.

"Anyway, why do you care if I'm bringing home _strange _women," he said curiously.

Molly bit her lip and blushed. "Well…"

"Are you jealous?" he said with a smug grin, causing Molly to blush even more.

"What!? N-No!" She stared at him with wide eyes.

"B-Billy!" Her sudden outburst of the young boy's name caused Sherlock to shoot her a suspicious look. She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "I don't feel comfortable with strange women being around him."

Sherlock rose a brow and laughed.

"Sure," he said with a slow nod.

Molly scowled. "Plus, I don't want to have to clean up after your messy girlfriends."

"But that's your job isn't it? That's why I pay you," he said in a bored tone.

Sherlock swung his legs and lifted himself up from the chair. Molly watched him, her scowl deepening.

"You don't even pay me!" she growled.

Sherlock proceeded to ignore her and walked to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Molly let out an angry huff and got up and began to pace.

"Sometimes I bloody hate that insufferable wizard," she muttered under her breath.


End file.
